


Insanity

by DforDanika



Category: Pitch Perfect (2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-04
Updated: 2013-05-04
Packaged: 2017-12-10 09:39:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/784596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DforDanika/pseuds/DforDanika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Beca Mitchell knows herself; she's good at knowing herself. But Chloe Beale could very well be her undoing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insanity

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, this is posted under FF.net account of TakeItAsItComes. 
> 
> Disclaimer: obviously I do not own or have any rights to the characters you see below. I just enjoy making them do dirty, dirty things.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> ~Danika

Let there be no mistaking it; Beca Mitchell  _knows_  how to get herself off. She knows how to do it better than anyone. A small string of lackluster males early on taught her just how underwhelming the opposite sex was. Yes, it was fun and sometimes enjoyable; but Beca had an inkling that she was supposed to feel something a little higher on the pleasure scale than just modest enjoyment. Her world had never been blown apart and put back together again by being with a guy, and she honestly felt like she was missing something.

But then; then she found girls. Women. Soft, warm, smooth-fleshed women. Breasts, bras, thighs, lace, tights, skirts and fruity lip-gloss that she just couldn't resist. Beca didn't know whether she was just with the wrong  _types_  of males before, or whether this was what it was all about for her; but either way- she loved her new discovery. Women, Beca found, seemed to have a better understanding of how it all worked. How to bring their lover to the place of seeing stars and having eyes roll back into their sockets. Of sheets being gripped under tortured fingers. She was finally introduced to involuntary shudders and noises she never knew she could so willingly make. Which is how Beca Mitchell  _knows_. She knows how to push all of her own buttons now. She's had a lot of practice. She gets it. And she's got a pretty good system when it comes to being alone. Which is why, these days, it's so hard to find  _anyone_ who's actually in the same league as her own left hand.

There's a system- several formulas even. If Beca were going to put it down to any form of symbolism (which she most certainly would  _no_ t) one may say it's much like formulas of matching downbeats and syncopation, or chord progressions under melodic lines in a basic mix track. But instead of music of sound, it's music of touch. And Beca's formulas  _always_ work.

The lights always go out. Darkness equals intensity. Depending on the level of desperation (or whether her roommate is in), it's usually some light petting to get herself started. Light caresses up thighs and ribs. A gently (sometimes much _less_  than gentle) groped breast. A strategic pinch of her own flesh. Then there are fingers. Fingers on her left hand of glory. Formula number one is completely external. Nub flicking, quick release, Bob's your uncle- done in less than five minutes. She generally has to squeak her pleasure into her pillow. Not too loud- dorm walls are less than paper thin. Formula number two is completely  _internal_. Fingers, knuckle deep curling up inside herself; the rhythm of hand and body in sync and totally at her own disposal. This usually involves having to bite her free hand to keep from alerting her neighbors to her evening's leisure activities. Formula number three is a little from column A, and a little from column B. And swearing to Jesus the first time she managed to accomplish formula three successfully in tandem, Beca swore back and forth she'd never need another sexual partner ever again in her life. In those moments, all cards are off the table when it comes to keeping silent, and any man and his dog who happen to be within a ten mile radius will know _exactly_ what she's up to.

So those are generally Beca's options. Of course there are often variations to the rule – as with anything, but generally that's enough to get her by. It doesn't involve pillow talk, messy feelings or emotions, and she won't ever have to worry about having to go for awkward "morning after" coffee. It's pretty safe to say that Beca's got it sorted. She's got it figured out, and that's very much how she likes it.

But then there's Chloe Beale. And Chloe can play Beca like a fucking fiddle.

Beca knew Chloe liked girls. For starters- she's  _Chloe-_  who is admittedly "pretty confident about  _all this_ " and would willingly prove that statement to any person on campus who was deemed attractive enough, regardless of said person's genitalia. And second point, was from the unavoidable amount of eye-fucking that went down in a shower cubicle where  _Titanium_ lingered in the air and naked bodies were unashamedly ogled.

After a highly inappropriate and heated (albeit clothed) stint between the two in the bushes at hood night, it kind of just escalated from there. They shake hands comically in agreement of a "friends with benefits" arrangement, and Beca is actually pleased to have a challenger in the ring.

The thing about Chloe is that she's entirely different to Beca. In every possible definition of the word.  _Especially_  in bed.

Chloe is about biting and squealing, and making sounds so everyone can hear them. She digs nails into flesh to show she likes something and whimpers like a child having a tantrum when she's about to come. She encourages Beca to be more vocal, and Beca encourages her to be less so, lest she continue to do more damage to her already pained vocal nodes. Chloe appreciates the sentiment, however argues that pain relief is best served in the form of an orgasm, and "what's the point in holding back, anyway?"

Holding back is also  _not_  one of Chloe's strengths.

One thing Beca learns very quickly is that Chloe is as enthusiastic about giving as she is about receiving. In fact it's almost more so- if the predatory way that Chloe always insists on topping Beca is anything to go by. All too suddenly, sex is unlike anything Beca has ever had inflicted upon her. There's no set formula to prepare herself for. Chloe is completely wild and unpredictable. She rarely ever does exactly the same thing twice and it drives Beca to the threshold of insanity- in quite possibly, the very best way. Beca's favorite thing so far has  _got_  to be the amazing and unfathomable way that Chloe uses her mouth. Whether it be trailing a languid tongue up her neck at a teasing pace, flesh nibbled behind her studded ears, or down her torso at an even  _more_  torturous rate, or the way Chloe  _bites_  and sucks a delicate nipple into it entirely -Beca cannot help the shivers that prickle her skin when the redhead's mouth is relentlessly set upon her.

Chloe also likes to fuck with the lights on. She  _likes_ to watch the look on Beca's face from between her legs as she sweeps her tongue through folds of moisture. It's terribly devious and so incredibly hot. And so, Beca discovers, darkness doesn't  _necessarily_ always equal more intense. It only takes two weeks before Beca is addicted. 14 days and she can't get enough of what this crazy aca-hottie does to her body every single time. Chloe Beale's slender fingers always have Beca begging.  _Begging._  In short, Chloe is a goddess.

Then things change.

Words like  _trust_  and  _handcuffs_  get lost between words like  _friendship_  and, "come over for dinner and movies.  _Just us"_. Chloe even manages to coerce Beca into sitting through (at least the beginnings of) a Pixar marathon – successfully throwing the brunette with the  _Turbo-tastic_ plot twist of Wreck-it Ralph.

Even with the majority of her encounters with Chloe being spent aggressively pressed against walls, or fumbling at bed sheets in an attempt to hold her sanity in place, she would still have to admit that the older girl was fast becoming one of the best friends she'd had in a very long time.

...

"Look at me, Bec." Chloe commands one evening as her fingers are quickly and repeatedly lost in and out of the brunette. Eye contact. That was new. But she can't right now, her eyes are already glazed over and wandering the corners of Chloe's ceiling, out of her control. With her chest heaving her noises of pleasure from her body, Beca's senses are again overwhelmed by the dominating words of her red-haired companion.

The words "I want you to come for me" are whispered deliciously into Beca's ears with hot breath.

Gun metal blue and azure meet and the heightened intensity is instantaneous. Beca is not just being eased up the hill toward the cliff top of release; she's being catapulted up and over. Her brows knit together –unable to allow her eyelids to flutter closed for fear of what Chloe might (or might  _not_ ) do should she avert her eye contact for anything more than a split-second. In her peripheral vision, Beca notices Chloe draw her own bottom lip between her teeth, hearing a soft purr as she continues to surge on with her attack. She's totally getting off on this.

When Beca finally comes in a mess of wildly bucking hips and limbs, Chloe's eyes still linked with her own; she screams. Not the muffled,  _I'm trying to keep anyone from hearing, so I'll bite my lip_ scream. And not the,  _give me a fucking pillow to silence me_  scream. And definitely not the type of scream you swallow back into your gut so no one can hear it at all. But a completely throaty, unfiltered, choked up and echoing kind of scream that she's absolutely certain Aubrey would have heard from her bedroom.

The only thought swimming through Beca's mind is that Chloe is  _good_  at this. No scrap that- "You're fucking incredible." She breathes out.

Chloe giggles lazily and kisses a  _you're welcome_  peck to the smaller girl's cheek.

Beca comes undone for Chloe more times than she can count on both hands and feet. This is both a novelty and a concern. What ever happened to the Beca Mitchell formula? Darkened nights and muffled screams into pillows? Beca was all for sharing her bed in the primal, physical sense; but never before had she let it go any further than that. The warmth of another body curled up against her in sleep was not something she had anticipated growing so accustomed to or even fond of. But here she was, being casually spooned by a captivating redhead with comfort and contentment radiating between their linked bodies. This was leading to trouble, and Beca damn well knew it.

Beca Mitchell knows herself; she's  _good_ at knowing herself. But Chloe Beale could very well be her undoing. And that's fucking insanity.

Then things  _really_ change.

There was no mistaking it; it had been a long and hard day. For a start, washing Aubrey-vomit out of Lilly's hair was an epic feat in itself. After a day of pride swallowed, apologies exchanged, confessions brought to light, and  _good_  music once again reignited within the group of misfit Bellas; both Chloe and Beca were at the end of their emotional and physical tether. When Chloe beckoned Beca over from her seated position on the edge of the bed- it was the first time all day that neither girl was fighting. No more fighting to be heard, no more fighting to be understood, no more ego wars and no more running away. Slender arms tenderly wrapped around Beca's waist from where she stood in front of the redhead, Chloe resting the side of her head against Beca's stomach and sighing deeply. Beca let her digits lazily rake through ginger locks, caressing gently. Chloe absently trails fingers in sweeping circles against Beca's back, contently breathing warm puffs of air into Beca's shirt.

Chloe lifts her head away from Beca's torso and delicately scrunches the hem of the shirt up the smaller girl's stomach, beginning to place gentle butterfly kisses all over the exposed skin. One hand reaches around under the thin shirt, and Beca feels a tender palm caressing the skin at the small of her back. The kisses on her front are slowly becoming open mouthed and wet, and it's a wonder to Beca why she is being so affected by the simplest of touches. The only word Beca can think to describe it is worship. Chloe is worshiping each inch of skin before her and a different sort of shiver rolls through the young DJ's body. Chloe's eyes roll up to meet Beca's, and it sounds stupid and cheesy, but what Beca sees reflected back at her is not something she's witnessed during any time that she's been intimate with the redhead. And it's honestly quite disconcerting. Then she sees her smile; dazzling and unashamed, and familiarity all too keenly washes through her.

She brings Chloe up to stand, cupping each side of her face in her hands. A sweetly innocent kiss is placed on tender lips, both girls' eyes flickering closed at the contact. With hands still at either side of the redhead's face, Beca slowly trails the digits down her jawline. Thumbs and fingers brush their way lightly down the exposed column of Chloe's neck, meeting at the base of her collarbone and fanning out to rest on her shoulders. Dipping her tongue into Chloe's mouth, Beca takes the time to truly explore the other girl. Her hands continue their burning trail on the body in front of her, hands delicately unbuttoning and removing whichever offending clothing garment happens to be beneath her fingers. She hears a shudder of air hiss through Chloe's nose as she reaches the clasp of the girl's bra.

Chloe's eyes, now open and entirely dilated with desire, are piercing right through Beca. Words are irrelevant. Not necessary or even uttered. It's almost a game of how slowly they can go; how drawn out they can make this; how much time can be frozen while in each other's company. Chloe takes detailed care with each zipper and button undone. Scarf, jacket and shirt fall from the limbs and skin they are covering. Even in a vacuum of time and space, each girl eventually finds herself naked and vulnerable in front of the other; skin on fire, waiting to be touched.

Beca eases Chloe over down onto the bed, her mouth suddenly everywhere. It's the first time Chloe has surrendered completely to Beca. There's no fight for dominance, no seductive pinning of hands to mattresses, no teasing touches that leave the other aggressive and needy. There's still heat though, no doubt in hell about it. Passion, yearning, desire, hunger.  _Emotion_. Everything that goes beyond simply  _fucking_. There's so much less chaos in their movement. It's so much more deliberate and delicate, with each action amazingly suspended in time. Each nerve ending in their bodies is deliciously sparked against one another's. Sweat prickled skin slickly sliding against sweat prickled skin. Chloe snakes her hand up Beca's body and hooks behind Beca's neck to draw her in for a passionate yet breathy kiss. Pulling away with their noses still touching; breathing erratic and high pitched, Beca finds her gaze falling and crashing into the eyes of the girl beneath her. It's the eye-contact thing that does it again for Beca. The way there is such loss of power and surrender in one simple scrap of body language.

There's an entirely overwhelming energy and shudder between the two bodies as they climax at the same time. The sounds of screams that bounce so perfectly off one another radiate the small space, piercing aggressively through each of them. Of all the times she has writhed and moaned repeatedly from Chloe's touch (and vice-versa), this had never happened before. Beca didn't even know of anyone that that  _had_  actually happened to before. Perfectly timed, mutual orgasm. Ecstasy. She felt pure, unadulterated bliss. And she felt it reflected back at her from the woman tangled beneath her. Her sense of logic and coherent thought were completely outweighed by the electric current still surging through her. She didn't even have time to process what happened next until it was too late.

Heated tears and words of denial spill out from her in the split seconds after the words "I love you" escape her post orgasmic lips. This was not the plan. This was not the plan at all. The plan was _pleasure_. The plan was  _fun_. The plan was _friends._ The plan was definitely not  _I love you._

"I think you should go." Beca scrambles for clothes and makes her way to the door in an attempt to usher Chloe out.

Complete dejection searing her every movement, Chloe dresses, crossing the room to where the cowering figure of the tiny brunette refuses to make eye contact.

"Is that really what you want?" Chloe pleads.

"Please, Chloe… I… I can't."

"Beca-" she tries to soothe.

"I can't do this!" Beca says with more force and anger -totally misguided, but anger nonetheless. Beca Mitchell simply does  _not_ cry.

That statement is proven entirely false as violent sobs wrack the smaller girl's body and it takes everything in her to not slide down the wall and bring her knees up to her chest in retreat. She wraps her arms around herself, body shuddering with emotion she has refused to let herself feel, and now she has no choice in its escape.

"Please don't be scared." the redhead whispers tenderly, cupping a tear streaked cheek, banishing the falling droplets away with the pad of her thumb. "It's still just me."

Beca finally brings herself to look into those eyes. She's met with a mirror of tears swimming in sad, cerulean orbs. Chloe plants a delicate, reassuring kiss to Beca's already swollen lips.

"I love you too, Beca." She whispers.

Beca Mitchell knows herself; she's  _good_ at knowing herself. But Chloe Beale could very well be her undoing. And that's fucking insanity.

 


End file.
